TEST DRIVE MEME #10

[sailmods]

a. that's where we both belong

[you wake up.

it doesn't matter where you were before. going to bed? dying? opening the door to face a great evil? same result. you wake up in a soft bed with starched sheets in a cool, darkened room, sunlight peeking out from behind thick curtains. maybe you're alone; maybe you aren't. maybe you immediately notice the folded paper on the bedside table near your head. if you don't, you better fix that real quick: you won't be able to even open the door before you read it.

the note itself is written in a neat hand on white card stock; there is a stylized logo of a ship with the words SERENA ETERNA printed underneath. the note reads as follows:

Dear Passenger(s),

As your cruise director, it is my great honor to welcome you aboard the Serena Eterna, your destination for fun and adventure! We know you could have chosen any cruise line for your vacation, and we're very grateful you chose ours! On behalf of the Captain, I would like to assure each and every passenger that will we do whatever it takes to fulfill all your needs and desires during your journey with us.

At your earliest possible convenience, please attend the mandatory lifeboat drill by the end of the day. I'm sure everyone is very eager to get started on all the fun and sun, but safety always comes first! You can find your life jacket in your cabin's closet; carry it to your assigned muster station on deck one, where I will take you through the drill. If you can't find me in the crowd, just look for the gal with the winning smile!

See You Real Soon!

Sincerely,
Gal Friday

you walk to deck one. you have no other choice: every time you try to step in a direction some unseen being considers "not towards deck one," you find your legs no longer move, staying stock still, frozen. whether compelled quickly by curiosity, or delayed by pure stubbornness, the result is the same, and you are left milling around with other similarly curious or stubborn people.

you see someone in uniform near the front of the crowd. she seems to be a gal, but is missing the winning smile, along with most of her other features. she seems to see you, though, rushing to your side and placing a lei around your neck with great formality. a voice, cheery but artificial, sees to come from nowhere and everywhere.]

Welcome aboard! I'm so happy you could join us!

[you touch the lei. rooster feathers, lotus seeds, and a carved circle of something white and hard, linked onto a silk string.

after the drill is completed, you are seemingly free to go. or, well, your legs work, now. and maybe that's as good as it's gonna get.]

b. and there's plenty of that down by the sea

[it’s strange to think about, isn’t it? how all those new passengers, the ones grumbling or shouting their way through the forced muster drill, have absolutely no idea what happened just last month. no idea about the labyrinth. no concept of why anyone around them would be a bit more hesitant around shadows.

they’ll learn.

sometimes a shadow is darker than it’s supposed to be. very rarely does anything come of that; just a vague sense that someone is watching you, and little more. sometimes, though, the shadows move. sometimes they grab at your ankles as you walk. sometimes they give you a shove as you go down the stairs. sometimes they pull your hair, or pinch your arm.

sometimes you feel something sharp cut into your lower leg.

that’s not a shadow, though. that’s a fiddler crab. you see the crab, sometimes. the cut isn’t from its claws, which don’t look very intimating; it’s not a very large crab. the cut is from the large kitchen knife crudely taped onto its back. it’s probably fine. it's not chasing you. there isn't evil in its heart. probably.]

c. think I'll go back to the Keys

[one day, in the atrium, two pedestals suddenly appear. on each is a large button: one green, and one blue. pressing the blue button gives you a little treat, popping out of thin air next to you. pressing the green button sends a small electric shock through your body. weird, but, hey, pretty avoidable, right?

except, it seems to be spreading. to every other button on board.

in the elevator. on the soda machine. the arcade. your phone. the bell on Friday’s desk.]

Comments

[abhorrently]

"Not your friend?"

She can guess.

[businessorlibation]

"He's young and energetic and in some ways I relate to him, and in other ways I find him utterly unfathomable. We're not close, but if he showed up at my cabin needing help, I'd give it freely."

[abhorrently]

Draining her water glass dry, she nods once, a deliberate action.

"And somehow linked to necromancy. You know, I can speak with the dead, read some good books on it, but making a whole business of it...mm, I don't know."

There's a shrug there.

"To each his own, though."

[astrogator]

'Nothing at all,' she admits. 'The statue just appeared here one day.' Looking back at the statue again, she shakes her head. 'I'm inclined to think, however, that anyone who commissions a giant golden statue of himself has to be an arrogant ass. To put it mildly.

She glances back to the other woman. 'You haven't been here long, right?' There's less certainty in her tone than usual, since Tayrey takes much less of an interest in her fellow prisoners than she used to. It's possible that she might have been here for months!

[abhorrently]

There's a quirk of a smile to catch that assessment, but it relaxes a little at the mention of time.

"Fortunately, I haven't. It hasn't even crossed a tenday since I wound up in this realm." And received enough information to make her head spin in multiple ways. Already allowed herself to drink herself into a stupor and lament, to get it out of the way. "What about you?"

[astrogator]

Her shoulders slump in dejection at the question. How long? She doesn't even know.

'This place doesn't keep to my calendar,' Tayrey answers quietly, 'but it has to be more than half a standard year.' She's spent longer as a prisoner than she had working as a certified lieutenant astrogator.

Then she looks up again, her eyes a blaze of desperate obstinacy. 'My primary objective - my sole objective - is escape from this nightmare.'

[abhorrently]

Escape. Her eyes light up some, and even though what she's been told is in her head - things about another her, about time being separate - the fact that someone else wants and needs to escape is enough to stir the sympathy in her heart.

"Then you and I are a bit more similar than you'd think. I know I can't stay here - there are important things, time sensitive things that I have to get back to."

Any questions on what a standard year is, or all the rest, those can wait. The more perspectives she can gather on what this is all about, the better.

[astrogator]

It's not that Tayrey had any particular preconceptions about this woman's attitude or beliefs, but still her words come as a surprise. She nods, firmly.

I understand. I have a duty back home, and I believe that if we time things right, we can return to the very moment we left. Even if we can't, though - getting back late is infinitely preferable to this.'

Remembering her manners, she sticks out a hand. 'Peace and prosperity to you. I'm Lieutenant Tayrey, of the Tradelines.' Yes. Still. Holding to her identity and her purpose is what keeps her sane.

Garak! <3 Have a wildcard since I'm so late tagging in

[astrogator]

Arilanna Tayrey once had a resolution that whatever else she did on this nightmare ship, she wouldn't drink alone. It had seemed a sensible precaution, under the circumstances, and it had led her to introduce herself to numerous strangers. In recent months, that policy had fallen altogether by the wayside. Usually, she works as she drinks. You don't have to be sober to watch computer-modelled wormhole simulations, at all.

That's the plan for this evening, until the young lieutenant with the little slate computer under her arm spots the alien. Her first thought is that he might be from Crichton's universe, for the simple reason that John Crichton and his universe are on her mind a lot these days. She doesn't recognise his species from her brief visit, but that hardly means anything. That universe seems a diverse one.

One way to find out. Go and have a chat, and see if he calls her a Sebacean or a Peacekeeper or otherwise reacts strangely. She steps up to his table, with a smile despite the weariness in her eyes. 'Do you mind some company?' she asks. 'I try not to drink alone, and my friends are developing sobriety habits.' Well that's true enough.

[abhorrently]

Her grip is solid, but not overly strong, when she shakes the woman's hand. A caster's strength is in their spells, not their arms, after all.

"And I'm Fever. Good to meet you, Lieutenant. Peace and prosperity to you as well."

Their intentions are alike enough - the pressing and looming threat of the cult and its forces aren't going to be forgotten easily, and Fever needs to know that things will be handled. Even if not by her. But relaxing just because one person tells you that you're still there is foolish even for her.

"Do you mind if I ask what kind of equations you were getting lost in?"

[astrogator]

Ari's own grip is strong, and she brings her left hand forward to briefly clasp Fever's forearm, Tradeline-style. It's an unusual name, but she's heard stranger out on frontier colonies - Landing, Deuterium, Charity - so she doesn't comment.

If she were asked, she would say that you're a copy might be the most idiotic interpretation of multiverse theory she's ever heard, and that other Tayreys in other universes weren't kidnapped is no reason for her, as an individual, to roll over and accept a life of captivity and torture. But she wasn't asked. The equations, then.

'Thank you, Citizen Fever.' She'll call people whatever they ask to be called, but she still defaults to the courtesies of her home sector.

'The equations are part of a plan to find a way out of this place, using quantum mechanics,' she reveals. She doesn't yet trust Fever enough to mention wormholes, specifically. 'People have all sorts of ideas about it. There are some who think being nice to our captor will prompt him to free us, which...' she looks highly skeptical, 'isn't my approach, but I wouldn't discourage it. A strategy with a low probability of success is much better than giving up.'

[hadnoright]

"Damn. More Avatars just in London than that." Okay, she doesn't actually know that for sure, but there definitely seems to be with how often they bothered the Institute.

"Not ports, exactly. More pocket dimensions."

[treasonlikebeauty]

"I suppose sobriety is an admirable habit, given the circumstances, but it does turn out rather lonely for the likes of us." Garak turns to assess her, smiling as he does. "And with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking, miss...?"

[astrogator]

'Lieutenant.' The correction is brisk, but friendly enough. 'Lieutenant Tayrey, of the Tradelines. Peace and prosperity to you.'

She slips into the seat opposite him. 'I find that drink is one of the few things that makes this imprisonment more bearable, so yes. I wouldn't like it to be lonely. And what's your name?'

[hadnoright]

"Probably, yeah. Captain loves set-ups that make us kill each other. So, there'll be that at least."

Even before touching on the passengers that do enjoy dabbling in a touch of recreational or otherwise murder.

[treasonlikebeauty]

"Lieutenant," Garak accepts the correction without so much as a blink. She seems young, but then, there's a whole species of difference to keep track of. The greeting is almost Vulcan, and yet she certainly isn't. "A pleasure. My name is Garak. I'm not familiar with the Tradelines, but then, I only know I can't even assume that you're human."

[abhorrently]

"I can see the concept behind it. Appeasing the gods and hoping for their favor is a a tale as old as time itself."

Since Erin had explained the Captain as a god, that's how she's going to think about him, until told otherwise. But the problem with that theory is that one can't expect gods to think like mortals. It's just not in their nature.

"But that surely can't be the only way to get those of us who want to leave out. Your equations - I might not have the world's best head for those, but the more options there are, the better."

Someone on this ship thinks Ari's doing a sensible job of it. And if that fails...then it's time to think about brute force.

[blindwatchersees]

"Not even a lazy one? Oh, I'm not discounting your theory that someone simply gave the crab a knife, but I'm rather fond of investigating a much broader range of possibilities. Perhaps the crab retrieved the knife from the pool. Or the ocean. The pool seems the more likely, I can imagine people leave their dishes and cutlery at the poolside all the time."

Wildcard

[decohere]

Garak might think he's alone at the bar. Until there's a distinctive sound of bottles clanging as they're moved about from behind the counter followed by quiet grumbling, by an invisible woman that wasn't intending to interrupt but clearly can't find what she's looking for.

[lightconductor]

"Have you seen how tall this ship is?" Watson lifts an eyebrow. "While I do believe there are people who can get down to the water from the deck and manage to return, I'm not sure the crab can."

A beat. He should probably introduce himself. "I'm Watson, by the way. Dr. John Watson."

[treasonlikebeauty]

He flinches, in the way of someone who doesn't like being caught off guard, in the way of someone who is never, ever totally at ease. Garak pauses, the glass of kanar -- brown, slightly viscous like syrup -- held halfway to his lips, then he puts it down.

"Now, people have spoken to me of ghosts," he's not sure who he's talking to, exactly, or if there's anyone at all, but if there is, "and I have to say, I don't think I believe in them, but if there's someone there...?"

He lets the sentence go unfinished.

[blindwatchersees]

"The pool, on the other hand, is quite crab-accessible. And, as I said before, quite likely to contain silverware."

A beat. A smile, warm and knowing and yet there's something implicitly dangerous behind the old man's visage.

"Sheogorath. Prince Sheogorath, if you like. And just Sheogorath, if you don't like.

[lightconductor]

A prince. Watson looks at him closely, considering. Oh, he's met royalty. Perhaps he's never been blessed with an audience with Victoria, Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and Empress of India, but he's been in the same room as kings and seen them for the flawed, petty men they are. That tends to change one's opinion about the divine provenance of royalty.

"Prince of what, might I ask?"

[businessorlibation]

"Calling, I think, for some of those I mentioned. I don't know that any of them started by choice. But I'm not intimately familiar with such. Normal as they come, me."

Bullshit, says the fizz in the air.

[decohere]

She's not unaware of his presence, so there's no startled reaction. Just a small pause in the noise, and then a head popping up right through the bar counter. About eye level with the drink. A hand follows to push it slightly out of her field of vision, so that he might see her expression of raised eyebrows and faked exasperation.

"I'm not supposed to be making a habit of lying about it," she sighs like somebody who has been on the receiving end of lectures. "But people do call me Ghost."